


Blank Slate

by EmmAnnWithAnE



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Memory Loss, Undergoing Revision/Time Line Over Haul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-16 20:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1361458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmAnnWithAnE/pseuds/EmmAnnWithAnE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter disappears off the street. His friends and family are baffled with no sign of a struggle, and no ransom. Ten months later a boy falls from the sky in New York city at the feet of Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. He has no memory of who he is, or where he came from. While the Weasley's try their hardest to get Harry back, the Avengers try and cope with an amnesiac boy-who-lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Have You Seen This Boy?

**Author's Note:**

> General Disclaimer - Plot belongs to me, everything else belongs to their respective creators. Just playing in someone else's sand box, no need to be alarmed.

Since the day that the wizarding world had pulled itself from the site of the final battle it seemed as though the entire population was having a difficult time finding words that didn’t seem paltry or lacking in some way; people gathered in a silence broken only by tears that could not be held back with their families, and looked to what was left of their government. The Ministry limped out of the ashes of the old regime, still reeling and scrambling to fill the gaps left by those officials who had sided with the Death Eaters during the war. The most notable of these gaps was the Minister himself, who had been placed in his position under the Imperious curse and later killed during the battle. Blood stained and battered, Kingsley Shacklebolt took the reins of their nation in hand, and soothed the survivors with promises and sweet nothings; telling them to rest well for now, knowing that they had won the war, but that the real work would begin in the morning. They were weary and let the newly appointed temporary Minister for Magic lull them to sleep with his visions of a brighter future.

It wasn’t as simple as any of them wanted it to be. With the morning came the reminders that the battle had changed their lives in more ways than just removing the leader of everything they feared. Voldemort may have been dead, but so were so many of their loved ones. Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, cousins, teachers, students, friends, people you passed on the way to class or work but never knew their names. Each of them had a body to bury, and someone to blame for their grief. With the funerals being taken care of the trials were next. Tears of triumph and rage mingled in the crowds as each of the captured Death Eaters were sentenced, whether it was the members of the Snatchers gangs being put away for kidnapping and human trafficking, or the high profile cases like the Malfoys that were watched by the public like mad dogs itching to be let off their leashes for a chance to snap at the accused’s heals. Every new name that was captured and set a trial date brought a whirl wind of emotion trauma to entire families, as they mourned those they’d lost at the hands of those being hauled up in chains before the Wizengamot. Some found closure in watching the sentencing, some felt hollow and cheated; most just faced the realization that nothing would bring back the ones they loved with still more tears and a half-hearted resolve to pick up their lives and move on. Molly Weasley was planted firmly in the latter category.

The loss of her son, Fred, hit Molly the same way it hit any other mother, with soul crushing intensity. She didn’t know how long she simply sat and cried, nothing around her registered. Her husband Arthur came and went, pleading with her to eat, to lie down, anything; but she couldn’t bring herself to answer him. That is, until she found her gaze falling upon George, the twin of her fallen son. Fred’s near perfect copy, they did everything in tandem, mirror images of each other. George was sitting at the opposite end of a table Molly didn’t remember sitting down at herself. He had a plate of food set in front of him that look completely untouched, and Charlie sat across from George apparently trying to coax his younger brother into eating. It was Georges eyes that made her get up; those unseeing glass orbs that had replaced her boys mischievous twinkling eyes, she couldn’t stand the look of them. So, Molly stood and walked around the table; she sat back down and pulled her son into her arms. She tucked his head under her chin, and gave his head a pat.

“Chin up now, Georgie.” She whispered into his hair. “Fred would come back and haunt you if he ever saw that sour look on your face.”

It took months, they staggered and stumbled as a group but eventually they were all able to get up in the morning. They could face the world and know that they looked like they were coping well. It might not have always been the truth, but the bad days didn’t completely cripple them and they could smile with the good ones. Molly insisted that they gather every Sunday for a brunch, just so she could see each of her children, and those who had become family, gathered around her table. It was normal, familiar, and reassured her that no matter how awful the rest of the world was her home was still here.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione never spoke of what they’d been doing god knows where, not with anyone other than themselves at any rate. They vowed to keep the Deathly Hallows a secret, and the less anyone knew about the Horcruxes the better in Harry’s opinion. With the hullabaloo over the trials and Ministry reforms no one looked twice at the Chosen One and his friends past asking them for appearances, and offering whatever they’d thought up as a suitably grand reward for offing the Dark Lord. Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was still acting as temporary Minister of Magic did keep most of the press at bay and far away from him and the Weasley family; but he was having a tougher time sorting out some very anti-werewolf sentiments that had been cropping up.

Fenrir Greyback, who had escaped the Battle of Hogwarts, had also managed to evaded Ministry capture and was wreaking his own brand of havoc. The werewolf population was increasing at an alarming rate, and people were scared. Kingsley was reluctant to pass the sorts of laws that some members of the Wizengamot were purposing and so far he and a few supporters were managing to shoot down the more drastic ones, such as registration by pointing out that it wouldn’t do them any good in catching Greyback. After all, it wasn't like he was just going to present himself to be tagged like cattle. So, people were being placated with an increase in Aurors looking for Greyback and any werewolves who associated with him. The longer the man hunt went on the more uneasy people got.

One evening Andromeda Tonks turned up at the Burrow, sleeping grandson in her arms, out of breath and dishevelled with Teddy’s nappy bag falling off her shoulder. A small mob of people had cornered her in Diagon Ally and demanded to know if Teddy was a werewolf like his father. She’d tried to get around them, but when she refused to answer someone had gotten the idea to just test the boy and pulled out a silver dagger. She’d managed to apparate away before they got a hold of Teddy, but both he and his grandmother were shaken. After this incident, Harry become actively involved in speaking for werewolf rights. He’d be damned if he was going to let his own godson be hassled like that for a condition his father had had. He gained support very quickly, who was going to argue with the peoples hero? But the tensions remained.

Molly insisted that Andromeda and Teddy come and stay at the Burrow, just for a few days. Of course a few days turned into a few weeks and soon the two were a permanent fixture in Ottery St. Catchpole.

“I’m not sure how she did it.” Andromeda remarked to Harry one day, as they sat in the garden with Teddy. “Every time I meant to go home Molly asked if I’d help with something and now I’m not sure I have anything left at my home.”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed, waving a colourful bear around for Teddy to try and catch. “She’s good at that. I was only supposed to stay for dinner one night, but Mrs. Weasley said my socks all needed mending.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t get too far without those.”

“Laugh all you want, at least I’ve got my dignity.” Harry insisted as Andromeda shook her head at him.

“Do you?”

“Compared to Hermione I do. Mrs. Weasley caught her and Ron snogging and went off on a rant on how they were too young to be giving her grandchildren already. She said they needed supervision, and Hermione was too embarrassed to tell her no.”

The Burrow was a full house these days. Harry, and Ron were back to sharing Ron’s childhood bedroom. Ginny and Hermione were bunking again, and George and Percy were doing the same in Georges room. Andromeda was staying in Percy’s old room, which Percy had so generously donated, and Teddy had been installed in Bill’s old room. Life had been uncharacteristically peaceful of late. Besides the occasional reporter, or anti-werewolf lobbyist stopping them in the streets when they were with Harry or Teddy respectively, they all went about their lives as quietly as possible. That quiet was never meant to last, they all knew that, but that doesn’t never makes it less of a shock when it does.

LINE BREAK - - LINE BREAK

Molly guided her frying pan around the kitchen, stopping just over the head of each of her children and the assorted house guests and giving her wand another little flick so the spatula dished out a good sized portion. Each time eggs and bacon smacked down onto a plate she got a grunt of thanks, a nod of the head; Hermione even murmured a ‘thank you’. Molly gave the bushy haired girl a smile and an extra piece of bacon.

“Eat up Hermione dear.” Molly told the girl affectionately. “I don’t like the look of how thin you’ve gotten.”

Hermione just smiled, shaking her head at Molly, and dipped her bacon in some runny yoke smeared across her plate.

“Load Harry’s plate up too while you’re at it, Mum.” Ron said around a mouth full of toast. “He went and lost half his bloody body weight.”

Harry scowled at Ron from across the table, where he sat holding his young godson Teddy while Andromeda fed the toddler. “I did not.”

“You did too!” Ron retorted after a painful looking swallow. “Lift your shirt up a bit, so mum can count your ribs.”

“Oh, Harry!” Molly exclaimed, immediately directing an extra-large helping onto his plate. “I’m sorry, dear! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s fine really, Mrs. Weasley.” Harry said hastily, eyes getting wider as the pile on his plate grew to unreasonable proportions. “Ron’s exaggerating, really.”

“I’m not!” Ron said, putting his fork down as though too offended to continue eating. “Not that anybody can even tell with that bloody sail you wear all the time. ‘Mione,” Ron called across the table, waving in her direction. “Tell him to eat his bacon and shut it!”

“Eat your bacon.” Hermione muttered around her own fork, never looking up from the book.

“And shut it!” Ron insisted.

“And shut it, Ronald.” Hermione turned the page and continued on.

Harry snickered, tickling Teddy and hiding a grin into the boys shoulder. “You heard the lady, Ron.”

“That’s quite enough out of you three.” Molly chided, sliding one last bit of eggs onto Harry’s plate. “Honestly, how you lot manage to get anything done is beyond me.”

“That’s actually a fair question,” Andromeda said, attempting to spoon another mouthful of mush into her grandson’s reluctant maw. “The only thing I’ve seen you three do is bicker, bicker, bicker. How on earth did you manage to keep yourselves hidden for so long?”

“More like how deaf were the Death Eaters that they didn’t hear you harping at each other?” Charlie chuckled, popping a cherry tomato into his mouth.

“Oi, that’s not funny.” Ron snapped, a frown curling around his face.

“It didn’t, I mean that didn’t actually happen . . . did it?” Charlie asked, his grin slipping from his face faster and faster as his brother continued to glower.

“Just the once.” Harry mumbled when neither Ron nor Hermione said anything. “Right before we landed at your place, Bill.”

Bill winced, squeezing Fleur’s hand under the table as he felt her do the same. “Is that what happened? You lot never did talk about it.”

“They just showed up on your doorstep all torn up and never said a word?” George asked incredulously.

“Well, to be fair Hermione was unconscious for the first little bit, and that one,” Bill said, jerking his head in Harry’s direction. “Was about three quarters out of his tree. It was really just Ronnie who was stone walling me for information.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry demanded, frowning.

“I don’t mean anything by it Har,” Bill said, waving him down with one hand. “But honestly, I asked you if you were alright and you asked me for a shovel. Not exactly the best sign of mental stability.”

“I needed to dig Dobby’s grave!” Harry snapped. “What’s crazy about that?”

“Just leave it Harry,” Hermione said, reaching across the table to pat his hand. “Nobody thinks you’re crazy.”

“Anymore.” Ron supplied around yet another mouthful.

“Anymore?” Harry echoed. Something whispered in the back of his mind to just let it drop, that he was happier not knowing, but when had he ever done that?  
Hermione sent Ron an exasperated glare, sucking on her teeth in a way that let him know he was going to get it later. “We never believed you were crazy, Harry.” She said, switching her softening gaze to over to her friend. “It was more like you were losing sight of our goals.”

“By losing sight of the goals, you mean . . .?” George prompted, waving his fork in a slow circle.

“Look, it really doesn’t matter anymore.” Hermione sighed, closing her book. “Harry just had a separate set of theories that seemed a tad. . . implausible.”

“Hey, I was right about that!”

“Bully for you.” Ron said, stabbing his fork through a hash brown. “I’ll make a note, shall I? When Harry starts acting mental, he’s probably on to something.”

“Can we back up a bit,” Ginny said loudly as Harry opened his mouth angrily “How do Harry’s barmy theories tie in with you lot getting caught exactly?”

Before Harry could do more than decide whether or not to be ashamed over having gotten them caught in the first place, or alarmed at having to explain that while skirting around the subject of the Deathly Hallows; Hermione had taken things to hand.

“The entire time we were out there Harry was absolutely convinced that You-Know-Who had hidden what we were looking for at Hogwarts.” She said, waving her hand with an air of long suffering exasperation. “It seemed so ridiculous, and Ron and I told him as much.”

“Only I was sure, so I wouldn’t let it go.” Harry said, picking up the slightly edited thread. “One night the argument got a bit out of hand, and I may have, er, shouted out a certain taboo name that called the Snatchers down on us.”

Harry’s blush was back full force, as the people around him threw him looks ranging from exasperation to dark remembrance of the way things had been.

“See mum, told you all those stories were shite.” George said, a cheery smile on his face. “Recruiting the Merpeople, my arse.”

“What?” Ron asked, brow scrunched.

“It was a rumour that went around awhile back.” Ginny said. “Some idiot came up with the idea that you,” She looked pointedly at Harry, “were trying to recruit merpeople to help us win the war.”

“The Merpeople. The ones who can’t leave the water?” Harry asked with a chuckle. “What were we going to do, trip Voldemort into the lake?”

“Don’t ask me,” Ginny said, laughing with him. “It wasn’t my theory. It wasn’t even one of the more popular one’s going around.”

“I never heard that one.” Ron said, shaking his head. “Not as stupid as the one about the Gnomes.”

“I’ m almost afraid to ask about that one.” Harry muttered as everyone at the table chuckled, except for Hermione, who was looking as dubious as Harry.

“You can’t blame people for speculating,” Percy said from the end of the table. “You did drop off the map rather suddenly, what were people supposed to think?”

“That we were actually trying to help, not doing whatever with the gnomes.” Harry dipped a bit of toast in his egg yolk and biting the end off.

“Trust me, the gnome thing wasn’t going to help anybody. . . especially not the gnomes.” Ginny gave a little shudder.

Charlie leaned in across the table on his elbows, pulling Harry’s attention away from Ginny and her theatrics. “So, if you weren’t doing weird things with the gnomes,”

“I promise you we weren’t.” Harry said fervently.

“Right, so what were you doing?”

“Looking for a way to kill Voldemort.”

A collective flinch rolled through the gathered crowed like a wave at Harry’s statement, and Hermione shot him a disapproving look.

“I think they’d worked that out for themselves, Harry.” She said.

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“Can we please just eat without any more war talk?” Molly snapped, dropping her frying pan onto the stove with a clash. “I think we’ve all talked it to death, honestly.”

“If that’s what you want mum.” George said, picking his fork back up.

“Thank you Georgie.”

“We’ll just get it out of them later.”

Molly glared at George over her shoulder “It’s just enough to know that those silly rumours weren’t true; that you weren’t gallivanting around the countryside riding dragons and blowing up buildings.”

“Well, we might’ve done that.” Harry said with a chuckle, grinning at Ron, only to have it slide off his own face as Ron returned with a look of absolute horror. Ron glanced over at his mother with wide glassy eyes, and Harry followed with his own gaze, trepidation growing as he turned.

Molly stood at the stove, hands frozen part way through wiping them on a towel. She was looking directly at Harry, and a hysterical little whisper in the back of his mind said that if her eyes got any wider they’d pop straight out of her head. “Sorry, dear, I don’t think I heard you. . . what was that?”

Harry found his throat suddenly dry, and when he opened his mouth not a word came out. He cleared his throat and did his best to back track. “I said ‘might’.”

Ron looked like he was torn between laughter and the desire to bail out the nearest window, but kept a firm hold on his Gryffindor bravery and stuck with his friend.

“It really wasn’t as bad as all that, Mum.” Ron insisted, an attempt at a reassuring grin pulling up the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, don’t even try Ron.” Bill said with a sad shake of his head, “I’ve seen the hole through the middle of Gringotts’ floor. You can’t pass that off as some jaunt into town.”

“I’m not saying it was!” Ron shot back at his brother, “But it could have been a lot worse than it was, right Harry?”

“Yeah, could have gotten locked in the vault with that mountain of burning gold.” Harry said, the three of them giving a little shudder remembering being nearly buried alive in the various treasures of the Lestrange vault as it burned their flesh.

None of this appeared to comfort Molly as her chest rose and fell in great heaves and her eyes began to bulge out. Harry made a silent vow to never speak again, and shot Hermione a pleading look.

“Mrs. Weasley, I assure you we planned the whole thing out very thoroughly before hand.” A vein began to pulse on Molly’s forehead and Hermione hurried on, “It really was a necessary risk.”

“Yeah, if we hadn’t gone then we’d never have, ugh, gotten the thing.” Ron chimed in as Hermione floundered, though he nearly choked on his own tongue as his two friends shot him scandalized looks.

“Found what?” Ginny demanded, making a fist around her fork when the three clamped their lips shut. “C’mon, the war’s over! Does your secret club really matter anymore?”

“Yes.” Harry said at the same Ron and Hermione both said, “Not really.”

“Harry,” Hermione began, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. Harry snatched it away before she could get a proper grip.

“No.” The last dregs of comfortable atmosphere evaporated as Harry scowled at his two best friends. “That’s how this whole mess got started; the more people who know the more chance for someone to abuse it!”

“Mate, nobody here is going to turn into a Dark Lord just because the last one kicked it.” Ron insisted.

“I’m not saying they will.” Harry said through gritted teeth, hyper aware of the rest of the table watching them, “but if they don’t know then they can’t tell anyone.”

“You’re sounding more like – “

“Well, he obviously had reasons for it, didn’t he?” Harry snarled. In his lap Teddy gave a frightened little hiccup, clutching at his godfathers arms. Harry looked down at the child in mild surprise that bled into guilt an instant later.

“I’m sorry, mate.” He mumbled into Teddy’s hair, giving him a little squeeze.

“I think that’s quite enough.” Andromeda said curtly. She reached out for her grandson and Harry handed him over meekly. “There’s no need to be discussing such morbid topics in front of Teddy to begin with.”

“Exactly,” Molly said, standing and dusting off her hands. “The war’s over, and you’re doing no one any good forcing this out at the table of all places!”

The room at large bowed chastised heads under Molly’s glare, but Harry could see that the curiosity had not gone out of the Weasley children. Ginny especially watched Harry with narrowed eyes. He was going to have an awful time deflecting their attentions.

They ate the rest of their meal in near silence, only breaking it to request salt or elbow space. When they were finished Molly took charge and began to dish out the traditional Sunday afternoon chores. Shooing her children and husband around, and making sure they all started before turning to her permanent house guests.

“Hermione, would you see what you can do about the windows in the sitting room – someone seems to have charmed them all green. Andromeda, could you give me a hand with these dishes? I’m sure Fleur wouldn’t mind taking Teddy, would you dear?”

Fleur smiled as she accepted the child and followed Hermione out into the sitting room; she stopped briefly to let Harry give one more apologetic kiss to his godsons fluffy head.

“Harry,” Molly called from beside the hearth, she had the pot of floo powder in one hand and was peering into it. “Would you mind popping into Diagon for me?”

“Sure,” Harry said “what do you need?”

“Well, a bit of floo powder to start with.” She sighed, handing him the near empty pot and scrap of parchment. “I’ve got a list, just wait there now and I’ll get it.”

“That’s alright Molly, I can just – “

“Don’t you even think about it young man!” Molly huffed. “It’s not your responsibility to be paying our way.”

“You don’t charge me to stay here,” Harry mumbled, resisting the urge to stuff his hands in his pockets and scuff his toe against the ground like he’d jumped out of a movie from the 50’s just to be scolded. “The least I can do is pick up the shopping every now and again.”

“Hush you!” Molly said as she rummaged around a worn bag she’d pulled from a cupboard near the hearth. She extracted a small red pouch, which she handed him with a good natured scowl shaking a finger at him. “I’ll hear none of it, young man. Now, off with you!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry said, he walked obediently to the hearth and took a pinch of floo powder then placing the pot on the mantle. He fumbled around with his shoelace until he was sure Molly was occupied with Andromeda by the sink, and let the little red pouch drop to the floor. Andromeda caught his eye with a smirk as he stepped into the fire. “Diagon Ally!”

Molly found the pouch an hour and a half later when she went to charm the broom into doing a little sweeping up. She stomped back into the sitting room where her children and guests were sat red faced waving the pouch around. She ranted and raved about clever boys who thought they knew best, until Bill, in an effort to placate his mother, asked exactly what she’d sent Harry out for. Distraction is key, the Weasley clan knew.

“Oh, just a few things,” Molly said. “Some floo powder and a few ingredients I need to make a batch of pepper up.”

“Hang on,” Ron said from his seat next to Hermione “that’s it? How long has he been gone?”

“Nearly two hours now.” Andromeda said, setting down her tea cup.

“He only went to Diagon, right? Should it have taken him this long?”

“Don’t get yourself all worked up, Ron.” George drawled, stretching out in his armchair. “He’s probably just found some nice young thing to chat up.”

“Classy.” Ginny huffed, rolling her eyes.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Percy said. “He’s perfectly capable of making a trip to London without getting himself into trouble.”

“Perc!” Ron groaned “Why’d you have to say that? You’ve jinxed it now! He’s probably dead in the street somewhere.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration don’t you think?”

“Not with Harry it’s not.”

“Easy now,” Arthur said, standing up with a grunt. “Let’s not get ourselves worked up. Ron, why don’t you and I go have a look in the Leakey Cauldron, ask ol’Tom if he’s seen Harry?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Ron nodded, getting up himself.

The two flooed off to the Leakey Cauldron, Tom said he had in fact seen Harry but not for a couple of hours now. They asked around the alley, but no one had seen him. Not in the Apothecary, or the Owl Emporium. Not in the Quidditch shop, or Flourish and Blotts. Getting a bit worried now, they returned home, hoping they’d missed him. But Harry hadn’t come back. So they organised themselves. Andromeda remained at the Burrow with Teddy incase Harry did wander in, and the others spilt into pairs and canvassed the alley. Four hours later they’d given up on the alley and Knockturn. They’d moved on to muggle London, and sent Percy to ask Haggrid if he’d seen Harry. They checked the Ministry – asking Kingsley and anyone else they knew if they’d seen him, as well as many they didn’t know. Soon most of their friends and casual acquaintances were actively searching for their wayward Harry Potter.

“I say we just stop looking.” Dean Thomas said as the sun began to set. “I mean, this is the guy who spent how many months under the radar of Death Eaters? If he doesn’t want us to find him, we’re never going to.”

“He isn’t hiding!” Hermione insisted, clenching her fists. “He was perfectly fine this morning. He wouldn’t just walk off like that!”

“Not like he hasn’t done it before.”

“Not without a reason he hasn’t!”

“Maybe he’s got one.”

“Stop it!” George snapped, stepping between the two. “Look, maybe he did just wander off, but we’re better off acting like something’s happened to him. _Harry_ is better off if we act like something’s happened to him. How would you feel if we all just trotted off and had dinner, expecting him to show up in the morning when it’s really some super fan of his has got him tied up in a basement somewhere?”

Dean paled and nodded.

Not that it did any of them any good, including Harry.

As the days went on with no sign of him their search became more and more organised. They spread out over the rest of the country – Hermione compiled a list of every place Harry had ever been, or shown interested in. Ron and Ginny collaborated on a list of anyone who may have had a grudge against their friend . . . it was a fairly extensive list. Some reporters speculated in an article that it may have been Greyback who made the wizarding worlds’ saviour disappear. A grudge perhaps? Revenge maybe? It didn’t matter that there was no proof; they didn’t have any proof to say he hadn’t done it, and Kingsley suddenly found it much harder to placate people into less drastic legislation for werewolves. Six months after the disappearance of Harry Potter the anti-werewolf movement really started to get some support and Kingsley was presented with a proposal for a new legislation known as the CaMD Act. The Confinement and Monitoring of Dangerous Creatures. This new legislation would make it mandatory for all werewolves to present themselves at regulated Ministry enclosures for the duration of the full moon each month. At least, that was the part of the act that was brought up and argued over during Wizengamot meetings. The wording and indeed the title itself were vague enough to encompass many other creatures as well, and many restrictions on movement around the country, job placement, and evening housing options for werewolves and other creatures would be severely limited should this be made law. They needed to find Harry, and they needed to find him fast. At this point, and Kingsley was very careful never to mention this within ear shot of the Weasleys or their friends, he’d settle for being able to prove that Greybacks’ wolves hadn’t killed Harry.

LINE BREAK - - - TEN MONTHS LATER IN NEW YORK- - - LINE BREAK

“Come on Bruce, I was just kidding!”

Bruce grit his teeth as Tony jogged to catch up with him. The other man huffed out a breath and patted down his hair; why, Bruce couldn’t tell. There was so much product in the man’s hair you’d need a waterfall to get any movement from it, much like Tony himself.

Bruce had been trying to lose him for the past two hours without even a hint of success. He hadn’t wanted to leave the tower at first – as loud and boisterous as certain people made the towers atmosphere, at least he knew that they could handle themselves if the Hulk took a romp around the den. The rest of the city was only just rebuilding, no need to let another monster lose on them, No matter where he’d gone (kitchen, den, bedroom, bathroom) Tony had been half a step behind, and he had a comment for everything. The gag jar that spat green confetti at him in place of peanut butter had been the last straw.

It’d taken a bit of underhandness, and he owed an apology to Natasha, but Bruce had managed to slip out of the tower without Tony noticing. He’d had ten blessed minutes of nothing but traffic, pigeons, and strangers voices before Tony caught up with him.

“Can we slow it down a bit, Brucie?” Tony groaned “I had a big breakfast, and it’s not sitting well.”

“Go home, Tony.”

“Well, that’s rude. You know there are people who would actually pay to spend time with me? Here I am giving it away for free, and all you’ve got to say is ‘go home’?”

“Lots of people pay to spend time with other people,” Bruce grumbled “you want to be paid? Go find yourself a nice street corner and stand there awhile, I’m sure you’ll make lots of new friends.”

Tony stopped like his shoes had been melted to the sidewalk and stumbled as the man walking behind him knocked into his shoulder.

“Watch it!” the stranger snapped, brushing by without sparing Tony more than a glanced. Tony frowned at him for a moment before taking three overly large steps that put him back at Bruce’s side.

“If I didn’t know any better, Dr. Banner,” Tony said, hands in his pockets “I’d say somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is wrong, Tony.” He glanced around – ditching Tony Stark was looking to be utterly impossible, but Bruce would be damned if he wouldn’t give it his best shot. If he’d been dealing with a proper adult this whole situation could have been nothing more than mildly uncomfortable. Hey, you’re bothering me and I need to not be around you right now so I don’t crush your head like a grape. Then it would be over, he’d have his space and all would be forgotten. As it was, he took a sharp left turn into a fairly abandoned looking play park and hoped Tony wouldn’t want to risk his fancy shoes in the questionable looking puddles.

“There’s a weird poppy vein thing on the back of your neck that says different.”

“What do you want, Tony?”

“In general, or right now?”

“From me. What do you want from me?”

“A hug.”

“Tony.”

“I’m debating between donuts and getting you to take a look at the specs for my new suit.” Tony shrugged.

Bruce ground his teeth together once before working his jaw loose again. “I wouldn’t be much practical good to you, Tony. I’m not actually an engineer.”

“So donuts then?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“We can eat them later, and I’ll show you those specs anyway. I like a second opinion – well, one that’s not completely stupid.”

“N – I don’t . . . not right now.”

“So like, in an hour?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Tonight?”

“Probably not.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll have Jarvis pencil you in for after lunch.”

“Stop! Just stop!” Bruce snarled, flinging himself around to face Tony with his fists clenched tight against the spasms he felt pulsing in his veins. “Can you just stop for ten minutes?”

Tony stood silently in front of him, hands shoved casually into his pockets, and one foot in a particularly questionable looking puddle. Bruce looked him up and down as he attempted to regain his equilibrium – there wasn’t a hint of in Tony’s whole body. His eyes were a fraction too wide to pass off as completely nonchalant, but it wasn’t anything Bruce hadn’t witnessed happen in response to Pepper corning Tony for some petty miss-deed.

“Yeah,” Tony said “yeah, I can do that. Ten minutes, or twenty, an hour.”

“Thank you.”

“And then donuts.”

“Tony.”

“I’ll get the donuts. I’ll meet you back at the tower, and I’ll make sure birdbrain doesn’t eat them all.”

Tony waved absently, turning to head back the way they’d come. Just as he turned though, his expression dropped for a second – it dropped into something Bruce had seen on dogs being tied up in the yard the day. Don’t leave me, come play, please stay.

“Tony?” Bruce called, bringing the other man back around to face him. “Save me a jam filled one, will you?”

“I promise you nothing.” Tony declared without so much of a hint of a smile.

Bruce rolled his, feeling a bit better already and hoping that he could finally get the distance he needed.

His hopes were shattered by a crack breaking through the general ambiance of the play park like a shot gun, and a boy who fell out of the air between the two Avengers.

The boy fell like he’d been dropped just above their heads and landed on his back between the two men. His head bounced ominously off the gravel path once, and that was it. No sirens, no screams, no explosions. He just landed. And began to bleed over path way.

“Well, that was just plain weird.” Tony said, craning his neck to peer at the empty sky above them.


	2. Houdini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months after disappearing from Diagon Alley a boy falls from the sky in New York City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT YOU HOLD DEAR DO NOT TAKE MEDICAL ADVICE FROM THIS CHAPTER.  
> If you or someone you're with has hit their head please seek medical attention. Head injuries can be very serious and its much better to be safe than sorry.

This was not how Bruce had envisioned his afternoon. To be fair, his days very rarely went to plan when the Avengers were around. If it wasn't a brawl in the kitchen, it was terrorists, or an alien invasion. Today a boy fell from the sky. 

Literally out of the sky, or at least the space of thin air a foot or so above both Avengers heads. If he hadn’t previously witnessed Loki pull a similar stunt Bruce knew that the situation would have alarmed him much more than it did, a testament to the bizarre collection of events his life was assemble from. Instead of gaping at the sky, baffled and amazed, he mostly noticed the increasingly large pool of blood gathering under the strangely dressed boy’s dark haired head. Which was more than he could say for some people.

“Where did he even come from?” Tony asked, inspecting the still empty sky above them.

Bruce dropped to his knees beside the boy, who was sprawled on his side amid a wild pile of his own limbs, tangled up in a dark hooded cloak and facing away from the two Avengers. Bruce hesitated with his hands outstretched towards the boy -what if he’d injured his back, was he even breathing? He wracked his brain for any first aid he could remember – was that fall enough to fracture his skull?

Tony continued to babble behind him staring up at the sky as Bruce gave himself a mental shake and shuffled around on his knees so that he could take the boy’s pulse without accidentally closing off his air way. Steady pulse, and even breathing. Good, good.

“Seriously, Bruce! Did he jump out of a tree?”

“Tony!” Bruce said “Can we worry about that later? He needs a doctor.”

“He needs an exorcism,” Tony said popping a black earpiece into his ear and giving it a tap “Cause I’m pretty sure he just got kicked out of the Pearly Gates. Jarvis, buddy, you with me?”

“What?”

“Sush,” Tony waved a hand at Bruce “I’m on the phone, rude. Sorry, Jarvis. Do me a favour and find out how to help this kid? He fell about . . . oh, what would you say Bruce, six, seven feet? He landed on gravel and appears to be leaking like a fire hydrant out of his head somewhere.”

“It’s his forehead, right side, just under the hairline.” Bruce said, shuffling around so Tony could see the growing pool of blood around the dark head.

“Did you get that J?” Tony waited for a moment, apparently listening to whatever information Jarvis had dug up – or had stored. Bruce had no idea what exactly Jarvis had been programed to be prepared for, but given Tony’s lifestyle Bruce wouldn't be surprised if he kept a folder on all manner of injuries, just in case.  
“Got any scissors?” Tony asked, jolting out of his still state and into full activity at a head turning pace. He was on his knees next to Bruce, patting at his own pockets before Bruce had processed his question. “I’ve got pliers and a flat head – “

“Here,” Bruce said pulling out a pocket knife from his jacket. Tony accepted the tool, and flicked the blade out. He bunched up the edge of the boys T-shirt in one hand and stabbed the reasonably sharp blade through the cloth with the other. The shirt gave way with minimal effort, leaving the boy’s side exposed from hip to arm pit.

“Check his neck would you Brucie?” Tony said “Any bumpy bits. . . abnormal bumpy bits? Poke around the spine, J says not to touch, just like beside it.”

“We should call an ambulance.” Bruce said, even as he did as he was told.

“Yeah I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Tony said, still inspecting the boys back, gently probing the area around the spine.

“Come on man,” Tony said sitting back on his heels “You saw how he fell? There is no where he could have come from. He just fell, straight out of thin air! Who else do we know who has tricks like that?”

“You think he’s like Loki?”

“He doesn’t exactly look like he’s from Shakespeare Land to me, but he did just pull a reverse Houdini.”

Bruce had to concede the point there. It wasn’t the sort of thing normal people could do. Though, neither was turning green and moving up a few weight classes in under ten seconds. The kid could possibly be someone’s experiment, if that were the case it would raise a whole host of terrifying questions. On the other hand, he could be his own experiment. Sure he looked young, but Tony couldn’t have been much older when he started constructing robotic monstrosities for Stark Industries. Of course that brought on its own set of equally terrifying questions, but right now their primary concern was making sure the boy didn’t bleed out on them.

“Okay.” Tony said, clapping his hands together. “As far as I can tell he does not have any major damage to his spine – so, hooray! Help me flip him over?”

“Gently, Tony.”

Together they shifted the boy until he was lying on his back and they could see a deep gash at his hairline. It wasn’t deep enough that they could immediately see bone – which Bruce hoped meant he hadn’t fractured his skull – but there were little rocks in the wound and the area around it was swelling up a bit.

“Jarvis says that we shouldn’t put pressure directly on the wound.”

“Do you have anything clean? A handkerchief maybe?”

“Yes, grandpa. I’ve got it tucked up my sleeve.” Tony snorted, untucking his own shirt and starting to rip a chunk out of the bottom. “Here, this will do till Happy crashes the party.”

“Happy?”

“Jarvis called him. He’ll pick us up with a first aid kit. At least we can dump some disinfectant on the kid.”

“Tony, he’s going to need medical attention.” Bruce said, holding the scrap of Tony’s shirt to the boy’s head, it was already stained red and likely wouldn’t last the wait for Happy. “Even if he is . . . different he’ll need x-rays and stiches, and probably pain killers.”

“C’mon. You really going to sit there and tell me you don’t know how to stich up a little cut?” Tony rocked back onto his haunches so Bruce could get the full effect of his eye roll. “I could probably manage it if one of the others couldn’t. I’ll eat one of my suits piece by piece if there’s nobody on the team that couldn’t handle that little scratch – and I’m not talking about the suits in my closet either.”

“And the x-rays? Or a radiolgrapher for that matter?” Tony was right; Bruce could stitch up a cut with dental floss and a paper clip in a jam. Natasha or Clint would be able to do a much better job of it though. Steve probably could too – his repertoire of skills picked up from the good ol’days was generally good for things like that. All of which was well and good, but as far as Bruce was aware, none of them had access to the necessary medical equipment, or the training to operate it, that they would need. Well . . . okay, Natasha might. 

“Ah, there we go.”

Bruce looked up to see Tony watching an expensive looking car jump the curb in front of the park and come to an abrupt halt. A man in a non-descript suit leapt out of the driver-side door and came charging toward them.

“You alright boss?” Happy panted, skidding to a halt next to them.

“I am phenomenal, as always.” Tony said, and gestured to the boy “Houdini here, not so much.”

“What happened?” Happy asked, seeming to notice the boy for the first time.

“We’ll tell you in the car. Be a dear? Help us get him over there.” Tony said, bending down to take hold of the boys calves. 

Happy jolted like he’d been electrocuted, and quickly bent down to get his arms under the boys’ torso as Bruce made a brace out of his forearms in an attempt to keep the neck and shoulders supported. The three of them awkwardly crab walked and shuffled their way to the car. Tony attempted to direct them, counting out a measure for their steps and dictating who turned when, though he mainly just added to the confusion. It took some doing but eventually Tony had managed to get the back passenger door open without dropping the kid’s leg, all the while cursing himself for not installing automatic doors in all his company cars. He kicked the door the rest of the way open, giving Bruce room to back his way into the car. Cursing and swearing the entire way the three of them eventually managed to get the poor kid into the back seat with his head resting on Bruce’s lap. 

“I feel like I should mention,” Happy said, jogging around to the driver side “dumping bodies is not in my contract.”

“We’re not dumping a body.” Tony said. He double checked to make sure the boy’s feet weren’t going to get caught in the door, slammed it shut, and jumped into the front seat.

“Well, good.” Happy said “Because I feel like Ms. Potts would not approve . . . does she know about this?”

“Ugh, no, Hap. We’re just going to keep this between us for now.”

“Sir, I really thin – “

“Happy, we’ll let her know when we get to the tower. . . After we get Houdini settled.”

“His name’s really Houdini? Like the magician?”

“Yeah, like the Magician.”

“That’s not really his name.” Bruce said, looking up from where he’d been inspecting the boy’s head. Now that he looked a little closer the gash was rather shallow looking, and the majority of his cheek bone looked like someone had taken a cheese grater to it. “That’s just what Tony dubbed him. Any chance there’s a first aid kit around?”

“Glove box.” Happy said, even as Tony reached for it. “Houdini looks like he needs more than a band aid.”

“Yes, we’re aware.” Tony pawed through the newly uncovered kit. Happy kept it fully stocked, even though it was rarely needed. As Happy had said on more than one occasion, he may not need it much, but when he needed it he needed it. “Take us to the tower.”

Happy had, by virtue of his long standing career of abiding his boss’s bizarre requests, begun to steer the car off the curb and into the direction of Avengers Tower before saying “Sir, that kid needs a doctor.”

“Yes, Happy.”

“And you want to take him to the tower.”

“Yes.”

“Where there are no doctors.”

“Dr. Banner and I will be there.”

“But no medical doctors.”

“Ugh, no.”

Happy watched Tony pry a few packets of sterile gauze from the organised chaos of the first aid kit, then turned his eyes back to the road. “Sir, I think there’s a fundamental flaw in your plan.”

“And I think you’ve been spending too much time with J.A.R.V.I.S.” Tony said, leaning back to hand the gauze to Bruce. 

“He’s not going to die back there, is he?” Happy asked, throwing nervous glances back at Houdini who’s bleeding had finally started to slow as Bruce put pressure on the edges of the wound.

“He’s not gonna die.” Tony passed Bruce another pad of gauze, making sure to elbow Happy as he did. “I’ve fallen further and walked away just fine.”  
“You were wrapped in the titanium alloy version of a crash suit . . .what are you doing?” Bruce hissed as Tony wedged himself into the space between the two front seats – forcing Happy to raise his arm at an awkward angle to keep it from being crushed into his torso, and lending Tony himself the room to paw at Houdini’s pockets.

“Calm down, I’m just checking for his wallet.” Tony mumbled. There was nothing but lint and an extremely bright candy wrapper in the outer pockets of the kids black cloak-overcoat-y thing but his right jeans pocket had a bunch of wadded up paper.

“Careful, Tony!” Bruce chided, cradling Houdini’s head a bit more firmly. 

Tony rolled his eyes but pried the mass of weird textured paper out a little more gently. Seriously though, what the crap was this stuff made of? It was thick and rough . . . parchment? Who the hell bothered with parchment only to wad it up and stuff it in their pockets?

“What is it?” Happy asked, trying to peer over Tony’s shoulder through the rear view mirror.

Tony ignored him in favour of unfurling the paper like substance. A second scrap of parchment fell from the larger as his calloused fingers fumbled to get it opened enough to read. He lunged to snatch it out of the air, knocking Happy with his hip and mashing his nose against the back seat, but rising victorious.  
“Okay so no wallet,” Tony said after turning to sit correctly in his seat and scanning through the first page. “There is, however, the creepiest shopping list I’ve ever read.”

“What do you mean?” Bruce asked.

“Horned slugs, snake fangs, bat spleens, annnnd puffer fish eyes. Gross.”

“Okay, yes that’s a little . . . unusual.” Bruce said, looking down at the young man in his lap. “Does he not have any identification on him?”

“Mmmm, nope.” Tony said already scanning the other piece of parchment. This one was much less disturbing. “Pretty sure his name is Harry.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. See.” Tony brandished the letter behind his own head in the vague direction of Bruce, who snagged it in one hand and scanned it quickly. 

Harry,  
Don’t read this here, you prat!  
I need you to pick me up something for Hermione while you’re out. I don’t care what, just something! I told her she couldn’t go into the closet because there was a surprise for her – don’t ask, okay? I sort of panicked. Just pick something up and slip it into the closet for me. I’ll pay you back.  
Ron

“Why do you think ‘Harry’ is our guy?” Bruce asked, looking back up at Tony who huffed indignantly, twisted around in his seat again so he could snatch the letter back and deliver a scornful scowl.

“If he was sending it, why would it be crumpled up in his pocket?”

“If that’s his writing I wouldn’t be surprised if all his letters were crumpled up in his pocket at some point.” Bruce shook his head and turned his attention back to the boy.

“. . . what?” Happy asked, looking at Bruce through the rear-view mirror. 

“It’s messy.” Tony explained, waving a dismissive hand at the driver. “Point is senders put things in envelopes, receivers stuff things in their pockets. Besides, he looks like a Harry.”

“He looks like a . . . oh, never mind just pass me some more gauze, he’s bleeding through.” Bruce grumbled.

Happy glanced sidelong at his boss as the man ripped open another pack of gauze before turning his eyes back to the road.

“Something to say, Hogan?” Tony asked, passing the gauze over his shoulder. 

Happy did a quick glance to Tony, shifted in his seat, adjusted his sunglasses and said “Harry Houdini, sir?”

Bruce snorted as he too made the connection. A small part of him hoped the boy’s name actually was Harry just for that. A small part.

“What about him?” Tony sniffed.

“Nothing, sir.”

They rode in silence the rest of the way back to the tower.

Bllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

 

Getting the unconscious body into the tower was much easier than getting him out of the park. . . relatively speaking.

The underground parking insured that no one spotted them as they awkwardly manoeuvred around each other and attempted to keep the poor kid as steady as they possibly could. They finally managed a semi comfortable arrangement that had Bruce’s arms hooked under Houdini’s shoulders with Happy supporting the boy’s neck this time, and Tony gripping him under the knees. It was, however, a much longer trip from the car to the tower’s medical wing; even with the elevator.

“Jarvis,” Tony puffed, squinting up at the pinhole camera that he knew the A.I. was monitoring them through. “Remind me to have backboards or gurneys or something put in at every entrance.”

“Certainly, sir. Though I must recommend not making a habit of bringing in blood soaked young men via the parking facilities.”

“You’d rather I brought them in the front?”

“It won’t happen again, Jarvis.” Bruce said over Tony continuing to mutter about his smartass creations. “These are extraordinary circumstances.”

“They always are, Dr. Banner.”

“What’s it like having your computer talk down to you, Stark?” a voice called down from the ceiling, a voice that was most definitely not Jarvis. The three men froze like guilty children tracking mud through the house, looking up to the ceiling of the elevator in unison to find Clint peering down at them from the service hatch.

“It’s a special kind of cosmic punishment.” Tony grumbled as the shock wore off “Get down here before you get smushed into hawk-paste.”

He received a rude hand gesture in response before Clint tumbled down into the elevator proper.

“Looks like you all had an exciting walk.” Clint drawled, leaning over Houdini to get a better look at his injuries. “Found some jailbait and everything.”

“Shut it birdbrain.” Tony shot back. “Nobody needs to hear about your fantasies.”

“Tony,” Bruce sighed heavily before turning to Clint “there’s been an incident. We’re trying to . . . get it under control.”

“We do that with kidnapping now? Huh, must have missed that memo.”

“Thought that was how you S.H.E.I.L.D. types solved half your problems.” Tony said, adjusting his grip under Houdini’s knees. “The other half being assassination, of course.”

“It’s sure as shit not how the Good Captain solves his problems.” Clint shrugged.

“Maybe we could take care of the head wound before this kid bleeds out on us?” Happy suggested.

“He’s not gonna bleed out.” Tony insisted “Push the emergency button, Barton.”

“Doesn’t that stop the elevator?”

“No, the emergency stop button stops the elevator. The emergency button is to the left, that blue one there.”

“That’s just confusing.”

“Jarvis! Emergency protocol, please.” Tony called to the pinhole camera.

“Yes, sir.” Jarvis responded as the elevator lurched, forcing them all to brace at the unexpected upward motion.

“And why the fuck didn’t you just do that in the first place . . . actually, better question. Why do you even bother with buttons?” Clint grumbled, one hand stretched out to steady himself. “I mean, you have literally everything in your workshop rigged to respond to voice commands and the hand wavy motion thing, but I gotta punch in a passcode to get to into my own damn rooms?”

“The buttons are for you archaic weapon wielders; I get the hand wavy stuff. And you have never once used a single security pad in this building, which is just rude, by the way. Half the time Jarvis has to use motion and heat sensors just to tell if you’re in the building.” Tony said, rolling his eyes.

“You say the sweetest things.”

The elevator door dinged open to reveal looked to be a fairly good recreation of a hospital room, or at least what they could see of it was. Most of the view was blocked by the broad shoulders of a disgruntled Captain America.

“Oh look!” Tony exclaimed “Gangs all here, well mostly. Thunderstruck still basking in the hedonism of this foreign land?”

“I had nothing to do with this.” Clint proclaimed as though Tony hadn’t spoken, throwing up his hands in surrender.

“I know you didn’t.” Steve said. He leaned slightly to the side to allow the archer to inch by him into the room but kept his attention on the elevator at large. “You were barely gone two hours, what could possibly have happened?”

“At the risk of sounding redundant,” Happy cut in before Tony could inevitably infuriate Steve “Could we take care of the kids head wound?”

“Not redundant at all. In fact it’s on point. Budge up, Cap, patient coming through!” Tony started to move forward, forcing Happy and Bruce to move with him.

Steve, thankfully, moved out of the way before space became an issue. They shuffled the last few feet to the closest bed and laid ‘Harry’ out as gently as they could. Both Tony and Happy moved back and gave Bruce room to peel the patch work of gauze from the gash on the boy’s head. The bleeding had slowed, he noted, but the sticky mess of flesh was dotted with gravel and dirt. Bruce sighed heavily. That was going to be nasty to clean out.

The squeaking whirl of a rolling stool heralded Tony’s re-entry into Bruce’s personal space – perched atop the stool, clutching a duffle bag and spinning slightly from the force of his self-propelled launch.

“Give that table a shove over, Hap?” Tony made grabby hands at the long, thin table set against the far wall. Unlike the stool, much to the dismay of the room at large, the table did not have wheels and produced an ear piercing screech as Happy did as he was asked. Once the table was in place at Bruce’s elbow Tony dropped the duffle onto it, opened it up and asked “What do you need, Doc?”

Bruce sighed heavily before saying “If you’ve got one I’d like a heart rate monitor set up. Some tweezers, water and suction, and an extra set of hands would be good.”

Tony and Happy both jumped into action as Bruce leaned over his patient. It really was a mess. Poor kid probably had scrapes all over come to think of it, he’d have to remember to clean those as well. At the edge of Bruce’s vision a slim pair of hands picked up Harry’s forearm and clipped a little plastic heart rate monitor onto his index finger.

“Where’d you find him?” Natasha asked.

“Oh, that’s a fun story.” Tony chimed in, tweezers in hand, from beside Bruce. “See, Bruce and I were in that little park and it started raining men, Halleluiah!”

In hindsight it was a bit more than Bruce could have expected from Tony to leave the bizarre pop culture references out of his explanation, but in the moment he couldn’t quite believe the man had gone with It’s Raining Men. 

Steve did not look all that surprised or impressed. He did, however, raise an eyebrow at Tony. Whether he was inviting Tony to go on with his explanation or daring him to sing the rest of the song was anyone’s guess.

Bruce plucked the tweezers from Tony’s hand and motioned for Happy, who had come back with a glass of water and a towel to step forward. He tuned out the others as Tony launched into an explanation. 

“I couldn’t find any um, suction? Figured we could mop up the water instead.” Happy said quietly to Bruce.

“That’s fine.” Bruce said, pulling the bedside lamp closer to Harry’s head “Will you get on the other side and hold his head steady for a moment. I want to get the bigger pieces out first.” 

The two of them worked silently for a few minutes. There wasn’t as much gravel stuck in the wounds as Bruce had feared. He pulled five or six bits out before it was just a matter of gently pouring little bits of water around the wound and dabbing the dirt away. Happy did the pour at Bruce’s direction, while Bruce himself dabbed away the dirt so he could see the damage better. He’d just looked up to ask Happy to see if he could go grab some ice when Steve’s voice interrupted his train of thought.

“So you’re telling me that this guy cracked his head open, and you didn’t take him to a hospital?” Steve said, looking from Tony to Bruce like he was already putting together the ‘I expected this from you, Stark’ speech in his head.

“Ugh, did you miss the part where he appeared from nowhere – six feet in the air?” Tony asked, pointing up in case the captain continued to miss the point.  
“We were concerned,” Bruce said, waving Tony down, as the man looked to be gearing up for a proper rant. “He most likely has an ability similar to Loki’s, with less control, obviously. He doesn’t have any identification on him – “

“Except for a letter.” Tony said, waving the paper around until Bruce acknowledged him.

“Except for a letter, that we have no idea if he was sending or receiving. The point is, if we took him to a hospital the risk of either exposing some poor kid who can’t control his powers yet or – “

“Or we’re exposing the public to some poor kid who can’t control his powers yet.” Natasha said over folded arms. “So we bring him to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea.” 

“We have proper containment for him in case of emergency, and our medical staff is the best in the business, I don’t see the problem.”

“I think it might be the containment part Dr. Banner is having an issue with.” Tony drawled.

“We still have to assume he could be a threat.” Clint said, gaining an approving nod from Natasha and sour glare from Tony.

“He’s just a kid,” Steve said “waking up in a S.H.E.I.L.D cell will just scare him. I say we keep him here and make sure at least one of us is around at all times. Give him a friendly face to wake up to if he is just coming into powers he can’t control. If the situation’s more insidious than it seems, well, I think the Avengers are all the containment one kid is going to need.”

“The Captain has spoken.” Tony said, clapping his hands brusquely. “All those in favour of keeping the kid say ‘aye’!”

Natasha stood up and headed straight for the elevator. Jarvis had it open by the time she reached it, and she treated them all to one last stare down before he closed them again. As the door ‘dinged’ shut Tony pointed at it with all the flourish of a Shakespearian actor and said “I’m counting that as a ‘nay’.”

LINE BREAK LINE BREAK LINE BREAK

 

As it turned out, Natasha was the only ‘nay’ in the group, as Clint conceded that it would at least be more fun to keep the kid around and see what happened. She’d yet to return and that was starting to worry everyone. Natasha wasn’t really the sort to let you know if she’d stepped out for a bit, and generally she was back before anyone even realised she was gone, but knowing she was upset and absent was cause for concern. She’d had far too much time to stew the betrayal of being out voted and ignored, and no one was very keen on her having that much time to plot revenge, so Steve had gone to find her. Clint pointed out that he wouldn’t be able to if she didn’t want to talk, but Steve had just shrugged.

“Well, I’ll give her the option anyway. Worse comes to worst, I’ll give her a target.” He’d said. Bruce hoped he meant that he’d be getting his shield and using it as a literal bulls’ eye for Natasha, because going without it would probably spell misfortune for Steve.

At some point during this exchange Clint had wandered off, without comment or explanation. 

Tony on the other hand had stayed to show Bruce the CT scanner he had had installed in the towers medical facilities. He’d been more than a little smug about brushing off Bruce’s concerns that even though they had the equipment, they still didn’t have a radiographer.

“Nah, it’s cool, I know how to run this bad boy.” Tony had said. “I built it.”

Bruce had let that one go, because of course Tony had built his own equipment. “Do you know how to read the results?”

“Ye of little faith.” 

This is how Bruce had ended up alone staring at the still unconscious body Harry, who was fresh from his CT scan. After some debate they'd decided that the gash on his head wasn't in need of stitches and left it alone after they'd cleaned it. Tony had then disappeared into the elevator to go examine the CT images on the larger monitors of his lab. The scan itself had taken very little time, and Bruce was unsure if that was because things had gone smoothly or if Tony had been bluffing about knowing how to operate it. Either way, Harry’s vitals were strong, and his breathing was even. 

“Hey, Doc,” 

Bruce looked up to see Clint come in holding up a bag of mini brownies like he was bringing in the spoils from a hunt. “Did you get those from Steve’s stash?”

“Please,” Clint said with a derisive snort and flopped down on the bed next to Harry’s “You think I’m stupid enough to pull that shit after the Oreo incident?”

“You were stupid enough to take the Oreos after the gummy bear incident.” Steve’s love affair with all types of candies and confections hadn’t stayed a secret for long in the tower. He always seemed to have a handful of something sweet throughout the day. Clint and Tony both had a habit of trying to steal a nibble, which generally put the Captain in a bit of a black mood. Not that he was opposed to sharing – as team leader he actively encouraged it. The outright theft of his snacks, however, set Steve off like a bottle rocket. 

“Yeah, well, these came from the communal kitchen so Cap can’t bitch.”

Bruce smiled behind his own hand as he scratched at his chin. Clint noticed, of course, but let it slide in favour of ripping into the brownies.

“Think he’ll wake up soon?” Clint said around a mouthful of chocolaty goodness and gleefully rubbed his boot clad feet into the bed sheets.

“Hopefully.” Bruce said with a sigh “His pulse is normal, and his breathing is good. I don’t see anything that says he won’t.”

“Took an awful blow to the head.”

“I’ve seen people wake up from worse.” 

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, rolling up the open end of the bag “but what if his – or whoevers powers are messing with his head?”

“That’s what I want the CT scan for.” Bruce said as he took a seat next to Harry’s bed. “Hopefully Tony will be able to see any abnormalities.”

“And if there are abnormalities?”

“It’s possible he’ll wake up on his own.”

“It’s possible he won’t too, like what if his brain is swelling up inside his head.” 

“There would be visible signs of distress if that were the case – his blood pressure, heart rate. There would be irregularities.” Bruce said, hoping he was right. It seemed a logical conclusion, but he wasn’t a medical doctor, he could only do so much. “Tony is double checking for cracks in his skull, dark spots, bleeding . . . brain swelling. Until he gets back, all we can do is keep Harry here comfortable and hope he wakes up.”

Clint made a noise in the back of his throat that could have been agreement or clogged brownie. If it had been a clogged brownie Clint apparently decided the best remedy was to chase it with more brownie as he stuffed another into his mouth. 

“I know you don’t wanna hear this,” He slurred through the mouthful “and I get it, really, but S.H.E.I.L.D could probably help. I mean, aside from all the equipment you could possibly need, they’re pretty damn good at finding whatever kind of specialist you can dream up – trust me.”

“You think they have a specialist on boys who fall out of thin air and bash their heads on the concrete?” Bruce drawled, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe not the weird voodoo poof-I’m-here-now thing, but definitely the concrete thing.” Clint pointed his half eaten brownie at Bruce for emphasis. 

“While I do appreciate S.H.E.I.L.D’s ability to find just the right people for the job at hand, I can’t in good conscious just hand him over.” Bruce said “If he is hiding, or running from something then you know perfectly well that the fewer people who know a secret the easier it is to keep. He’s safer with just us.”

“And if he is the bad guy?”

Bruce tapped his own temple twice and looked Clint in the eye “Hulk’s never very far away.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” Clint said, rolling into a sitting position. “If Nat asks, tell we had this little chat, yeah?”

“Of course.” Bruce agreed.

Clint stood, stretched, and reopened the bag of brownies. He looked over at Bruce when the other man chuckled, one hand already digging around in the bag.

“What? You want one?” He asked, shoving a brownie in his mouth and then offering the bag to Bruce.

“Oh, no you go ahead.” Bruce chuckled again, and waved Clint off. 

“Suit yourself.” The archer shrugged. He then rolled up the bag and walked down the line of beds until he reached the far wall. “Do me a favour?”

“Ugh, sure?”

Clint reached up and tugged lightly at the grate covering the air vent just above his head. The grate popped off as though it hadn’t been attached at all, which it likely wasn’t. Bruce had a suspicion that this may explain Clint’s earlier disappearance. It wouldn’t be the first time Clint had prepared himself a vent accessible route around the tower.

“Put that vent back when I’m through?”

“Yeah, okay.” Bruce said, levering himself out of his chair. “Can’t you get it back on yourself?”

“Well, obviously.” Clint grunted as he clambered head first into the vent. “Hell of a lot easier if you do it though.”

“Alright, good-bye.” Bruce said to Clint’s retreating ass.

“Catch you later!”

Bruce shook his head fondly as he set the grate back in place; lining the screws up so they rested in their holes, but didn’t screw them tight. Tony could complain all he wanted about his building being compromised by Clint’s little forays into duct work, but honestly Bruce didn’t think it made much of a difference. Yes, it would be highly embarrassing if grates falling off the walls were the thing to take out one or more of the Avengers, but they really should be able to handle that sort of thing. 

Bruce turned around to go back to his seat next to Harry and froze mid step. His heart dropped into his stomach and jumped back up to his throat in the two seconds it took for his brain to connect with what his eyes were telling him.

The bed was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. Terribly sorry for the long silence, life has been busy. But! I have steady employment, a place to live, and both my dog and my dad have recovered from their respective illness. Things are good. Please enjoy this chapter. For those that read my other story, Tattoo, the next chapter is in the works. I ask for patience, life might be good on my end but its still busy!
> 
> All my love to those who continue to read even with my long absences
> 
> Emi


	3. Hide and Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You still shouldn't take medical advice from me. If you are hurt, please see a doctor. If you suspect injury to the head or spine do not move until a trained medical professional has moved you.

Nothing. Months of searching, questioning, tromping around the countryside, and following rumours even further than that. All that, and they had absolutely nothing. Not one sign of Harry bloody Potter, and Ron was starting to loose hope. Not that he’d ever admit it . . . not that he ever could.

In the last six months or so the official search had petered out until it was more or less just him, Hermione, and occasionally which ever one of his family was available to help. But everyone had lives that they had to get back to - Fleur was pregnant, Teddy had started walking, his dad had been promoted again. But now, it looked like even Hermione was starting to give up.

Scrubbing at his face, Ron blew a breath out of his nose and dropped his hands into his lap. He was in the same chair he’d been sitting in for every spare moment he’d had for the past year. He glared at the wall opposite him where he’d tacked a map up. When they’d realised Harry wasn’t in Diagon Alley Hermione had pulled out a world map, and charmed it so that it would zoom in on whichever part of the world they were going to search next. They’d marked out each possible location that Harry might have wandered off to on his own in yellow, and each location someone who’d want to hurt him might be in red. Each and every location, including all the blue marks for rumoured sightings, were accompanied by a black X. Dead end.

The floo flared green, and Hermione stepped out. Dressed to the nines, and hair done to match. Ron couldn’t remember if she’d told him where she was going tonight. There was always some function, or charity, or something she was going to. He couldn’t keep track.

“Hey,” He said, saluting her with his half drunk coffee.

“Ron, it’s ten o’clock. Tell me that’s not what I think it is.” Hermione sighed, dusting her dress off, and making her way over to him.

“It’s decaf, if that makes you feel better.”

“A little, if it’s true. The healer said you need to cut out caffeine, or you’ll never be able to regulate your sleeping pattern.”

“I know. That’s why it’s decaf.” Ron growled as she sat down across from him, her back to the map.

“I’m only reminding you.” Hermione sniffed “The benefit went well, thank you for asking.”

“Great.”

Hermione blew a long breath out of her nose. “You could show a little more enthusiasm. It was to raise awareness for the bill to protect underage werewolves from being taken out of school.”

“And that’s great.” Ron said through his teeth “I’m sure Harry would be thrilled.”

“Yes, he would be.”

“I’m sure he’d be more thrilled if he could attend himself.”

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, putting one hand on the arm of her chair and squeezing. “That’s hardly the point, Ron.”

“It’s exactly the point!” Ron shouted, setting his mug down with sharp click of ceramic on wood, and stood. “He could be here if - “

“If what?” Hermione roared back “If I let all his hard work go to waste, and started chasing down weak leads from some, some fame seeking groupies who claim to have seen him having an ice cream by the beach in Praia da Marinha!”

“No! If you didn’t treat him like he was dead.” Ron hissed “I’ve seen the quotes in the papers, Hermione. Every time you mention him, you sound like you’re writing his eulogy. ‘Harry spent his life fighting injustice’, ‘if Harry could see the progress these bills have made, he’d roll in his grave’.”

“I never said that!”

“You might as well have!”

“He’s been gone over a year now, Ron! We need to accept that we may never find him, a-and I think the best thing we can do for is finish what he started!” Hermione said to Ron’s back. Tears she’d been holding back leaked out of her eyes as Ron whirled around to face her.

“The best thing?” Ron shouted, ears going red “The best thing we can do for our best friend is keep looking for him! He wouldn’t stop if it were if it was you, or me. He would want - “

“He would want us to take care of Teddy!” Hermione screamed over him “Teddy who is going to spend the rest of his life at the mercy of these, these barbaric laws if something isn’t done! That’s what he would want.”

Ron took a step back, they’d gotten in each others faces without him realising it, and Hermione was standing more or less under his nose. “I can’t abandon him, Hermione.”  
She pursed her lips, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks “Like me, you mean? He’s my friend too, Ron. I miss him, and I want him back safe, and sound every bit as much as you do. But you know damn well he’d rather be dead than leave Ted to suffer!” She took a shuddering breath, and drew her shoulders back “I’m not saying you should stop looking for him, but I-I need your help too.”

“What do you want me to do, Hermione?” Ron mumbled “I’m not like you. I can’t play at being a socialite, and make people listen. Make them see they’re being bloody idiots.”

“You’d be better at it than you think you would.” Hermione smiled “Look at Harry. Remember how nervous he was before that first press conference?”

Ron barked out a laugh “He vomited in the umbrella stand in the lobby.”

“He did not!” Hermione said on a laugh.

“Nearly. And I told George that he did.”

“Is that why George gave him a pack of sickness bags for his birthday?”

Ron snorted and nodded “Yeah, jinxed my slice of cake so it turned into boogies when I took a bite for that one.”

“That’s disgusting.” Hermione chuckled “Did Ginny teach him that?”

“She says no, but I don’t really believe her.”

Hermione wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and looked over her shoulder at the world map. “Do you have any new leads?”

Ron sighed and dropped back into his chair. “Dung’s cousins friend swears she heard someone say they saw him in Las Palmas.”

“Las Palmas? That’s in the Canary Islands, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is.”

“And he was supposed to be doing what?”

“Apparently, he was getting his beard trimmed.”

Hermione gaped. “His beard? Harry had all the facial hair of a toddler.”

“I know,” Ron scrubbed his face “unless someone cast a hair growth charm on him -”

“There’s no way that would be Harry.”

“Which is why I’m here. Drinking shit coffee, and yelling at my girlfriend.”

“Well, to be fair. She yelled back.” Hermione stood and walked over to Ron’s chair, so she could settle herself onto his lap. With a little shuffling around, they settled into each other's arms, and stared at the world map.

“One of two things is going to happen.” Hermione said, her head tucked under Ron’s chin “Either we’re going to find him, or he’s going to find us.”

“He’s going to walk right in, and ask what took us so long, is he?”

“No, he’s going to want a sandwich.”

MEANWHILE IN NEW YORK WITH BRUCE - - - - - - - 

Well isn’t this just perfect, Bruce grumbled to himself. He was sure his heart had stopped beating the moment he’d registered Harry wasn’t in his bed. It had since started back up again, but Bruce was at a loss of what to do. Natasha was right, Bruce moaned internally, and now there’s a tiny concussed assassin running around the tower. 

Bruce glanced over at the firmly close door, then back to the newly vacant bed. How far could the kid possibly have gotten? He hadn’t even heard the door open! How could a guy who’d been out cold two seconds prior move so quietly that not only had Bruce not noticed him get up - but Clint hadn’t either! He’d had to have moved the second Clint had his head in the vent. . . If he actually assinates anyone I am never going to live this down.

“Dr. Banner.” Jarvis’s voice broke into Bruce’s thoughts from on high “The young man has taken refuge under the bed.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.” Bruce said to the ceiling. Right, the bed. Of Course he was under the bed.

Bruce made his way slowly back over to the bed. He hoped that Jarvis would think to let Client know what was going on as he lowered himself slowly to the ground. If Harry was an assassin, having his cover blown wasn’t likely to put him in a stellar mood. The second he got low enough to peer under the bed Bruce’s hazy suspicions on Harry’s character were dispelled. Not even a concussed assassin would have crammed themselves so tightly into a keenly uncomfortable looking ball of limbs; he could practically hear Natasha scoffing. Bruce breathed out through his nose, and offered the boy a smile.

“Hi there-” a bony fist snapped out and hit Bruce square on the nose. 

It wasn’t the hardest Bruce had ever been hit, but blood was spurting out of his left nostril, and he reeled back from the shock of it. As he was blinking to clear his watery eyes, Harry had rolled himself out from under the bed on the far side, and made a break for the door. Still half blind, and bleeding from his nose, Bruce lunged after him. Though “lunge” may have been a rather generous description, as it turned into more of a flop at the end. A flop that, fortunately, put him within grasping distance of Harry’s ankles. He managed to get his arm wedged between Harry’s running feet, bringing the boy crashing to the ground - At least until Harry caught himself on the palms of his hands and kicked out at Bruce like a mule, landing a solid hit to Bruce’s chin. He had to stop doing that. 

Bruce was still working on getting his eyes to come back into focus when realized that Harry had made it back to his feet and was headed for the door. The boy yanked on the handle, then pushed when it wouldn’t open, and Bruce sent up a silent thank you to whoever had thought to lock it behind themselves. 

“Captain Rogers is on his way, Dr. Banner.” 

“Thank you, Jarvis.” Bruce slurred, after spitting out a bit of blood that had dribbled down from his nose into his mouth. When they had this under control again, Bruce decided, he was going to go get a nice little potted plant to put it beside Jarvis’s main server. Or maybe a little rock garden.

Harry had basically plastered himself to the wall beside the door when he realised he wasn’t getting out that way, and was scanning the windows. Bruce hauled himself up to his feet, trying to look as unthreatening as he could while drenched in blood. He held out a hand to Harry, palm open, and kept his other hand on his own nose. 

“Easy now,” He said “I’m not going to hurt you. So, if you could please stop hurting me, that would be great.” He tried for a smile, but Harry didn’t seem to appreciate his attempt. The boy squinted at him like he was sure Bruce was trying to pull something over on him, and inched back towards the door. His fingers had barely brushed the knob when a distinct click signaled the door being unlocked. Harry practically launched himself away from the door, and into the nearest corner as Steve cautiously pried the door open, and peered inside. 

“Mind pulling that shut behind you?” Bruce said, waving Steve inside with him. 

Steve nodded, and squeezed his bulk through as small of an opening as he could manage, but stayed in front of the door. “Are we having a problem here?”

“We’re alright.” Bruce said, as Harry hunched his shoulders “I think he just got a bit of a scare when he woke up.”

Steve nodded sympathetically, his own posture relaxing a little as he turned to face the young man. “Hi,” he said, his voice low “I’m Steve.” 

Harry seemed thoroughly unimpressed with this information. He starred Steve down as though he could make the super soldier burst into flames if he thought about it hard enough, and remained in his corner.

“I know how scary it can be, waking up in a strange place, and not knowing how you got there, but we’re not going to hurt you. My friend Bruce,” Steve gestured over at said friend who gave a little wave “was making sure you weren’t hurt too badly. He says you took quite the knock to the head. You’re going to be fine, but you’ll need to take it easy for awhile. Is there someone you want us to contact? Your family maybe? A friend?”

By this point Bruce was 100% sure the boy wasn’t paying a lick of attention. His fingers twitched at his sides - scratching over the denim of his jeans, and his shoulders hunched lower the more Steve talked. His eyes scoured the room, and flicked back, and forth between Bruce and Steve, and the space between the two of them. 

“Hey now,” Steve tried again “it’s alright. You’ve only been up a few minutes, why don’t you sit back down and let Bruce check your head? We only want to help.” 

That certainly got his attention. Bruce mused to himself as Harry’s attention snapped to Steve, and he briefly wondered if that was how Natasha’s targets felt if they saw her coming. Distracted by his musings Bruce very nearly got mowed down as Harry made a break for freedom - fortunately Steve was on top of things.

The soldier moved just as Harry did, slipping both arms under the boy's armpits, bringing his hands together behind his head, and pulling just a little bit. 

“I’m going to need you to calm down, son.” Steve said in his Captain voice. Even Bruce felt his spine straighten at the tone. Harry had no such reaction. Instead of being cowed the boy pulled his right leg up and stomped down on Steve’s foot.

Steve winced, but refused to loosen his grip. He saw the look of panic flash across the boy’s face as he realised he wasn’t getting anywhere, and hoped that would be the end of the struggle. He kept right on hoping that until something slammed him in the gut so hard he was flung backwards out into the hall. His head bounced off the wall and slumped into a heap on the floor while the shrimp of a kid that’d sent him flying dashed out past him, and down the hall.

Steve groaned and wheezed his way into a sitting position in time to see Harry skid to a halt in front of the first door he came to. The kid gave the door a tug, and Steve sighed in relief when it didn’t open.

“The medical floor is on lockdown, Captain. The others have been notified.” Jarvis’ voice floated over them, like rain ending a drought.

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

“It was not- “ 

With a fizzling crack Jarvis’ voice cut out, and the door Harry had been tugging on swung open with a crack.

Bruce stumbled out of the medical bay as Harry disappeared in the newly opened door, which snapped closed behind him on it’s own.

“Please tell me that wasn’t the stairs.” Steve wheezed. He hadn’t had the wind knocked out of him in a long time. He really hadn’t missed the feeling.

“No, sir. That would be a storage closet.” Jarvis said, his robotic voice was filled with static and warbled a bit, but he was back.

“Well,” Bruce said, dabbing at his sluggishly bleeding nose “that could have gone much better.” 

 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked as he hauled himself to his feet.

“I’ll be fine.” Bruce waved him off “How are we going to get him out of there? Poor kid’s terrified.”

“He’ll have figured out he’s trapped by now.” Steve sighed “Let’s give him a minute to catch his breath, then we’ll try to talk him out.”

“I might advise swifter action, Captain.” Jarvis said “the young sir seems to have pried the grating for the ventilation system off the wall, and is currently climbing into said ventilation system.”

“Shit!” Steve lunged for the door, giving it a hard tug - there was enough force behind it that Bruce honestly expected the door to be ripped right off it’s hinges.  
It didn’t so much as budge.

SWITCH POV SWITCH POV

Well, isn’t this just effing beautiful. Not one damn thing had gone right since he’d woken up. In a strange bed, in a strange room, with a couple of very strange men. He felt like someone had kicked the ever loving’ snot out of him - and just for good measure - gone and got himself trapped in a labyrinth of air ducts! It had been a bit of a desperate move. Finding himself inside a closet had been a nasty surprise. He’d been so focused on getting away he really hadn’t thought his route out. When his eyes had landed on the air duct he’d automatically went for it. Half clambering up a shelf stocked with mystery boxes and paper towels, and digging his fingers under the edges of the grate. It’d popped off like the lid of a jam jar, and he’d tossed it aside, scrambling to cram himself into the only escape route he could see. He’d crawled a couple of feet into the vent, inhaling mouth fulls of dust as he went, before his panic wore off just enough for him to realise where he was. Now, he lay face down, trying to get his heart rate under control.

Where the hell was he supposed to go now? They had to know he’d gone in the vents - that Jarvis guy that’d ratted him out, had to be watching him somehow - cameras, must be. He’d sworn there’d only been two people in the room when he’d woken up. The dark haired one had turned his back and the blond one crawled into the vents - it should have been safe to move! There must have been . . . oh sweet Merlin, the blond guy went into the vents.

He needed out. Jarvis probably had an eye out for him. No matter which way he jumped he was stuck! Jump out, and there’d be a welcome committee waiting for him. Stay, and blond guy hunts him down. Even without blond guy - what was he going to do? Live the rest of his life in here, licking dust off the walls, and waiting for death? Maybe he could go back? Jarvis probably wouldn’t be watching the hall way anymore. It might give him a decent head start.

“Bloody fucking hell.” He grumbled, shimming himself backwards until his feet hit nothing but open air. He wiggled his right foot downwards until he made contact with the top shelf, and let himself drop the rest of the way. Back on solid ground, he hesitated. He really didn’t know how big this place was - what if he made it out of the building and he was in the middle of nowhere? 

Grinding his teeth together, he made himself yank the closet door open. One way or another he was getting out of this place!

SWITCH POINT OF VIEW 

Tony had been through some truly hellish situations in his day. Things he’d believed he would never come back from, and things he’d wished would be the end of him. Looking back on them now, he couldn’t think of anything that’d been as intensely uncomfortable as his current elevator ride with Natasha “I told you so” Romanoff. 

She’d magically popped out of who the hell knows where as he’d been examining Houdini’s CT scan, and watched over his shoulders as he worked. Never said a word, just observed. When his A.I. had brought them the news of Harry’s escape Jarvis had only gotten halfway through his proclamation of “Sir, there seems to be a problem” and Nat had leveled him with a look so scathing it could have peeled paint. A stare she kept up all the way into the elevator, boring into the back of his head. By the time the elevator dinged open on the medical level Tony was ready to sprint out of the stupid thing. 

“Okay, what the hell happened?” Tony demanded the second the elevator doors opened. 

Bruce and Steve, both milling about a few paces away from the storage closet, looked up as Tony and Nat stepped out. When Jarvis had announced that Harry had stopped moving they’d decided it was best to call in the others and see if the kid came out on his own.

“Keep it down,” Bruce scolded “We don’t want to scare him anymore than he has been.”

“Okay, seriously, what happened?” Tony stage whispered, as he and Nat drew level with the other two Avengers.

“Clint and I were talking when he woke up - about contingency plans.” Bruce said, with a look for Natasha. “He spooked and tried to run.”

“Where’s Clint now?” Natasha asked.

“In the vents.” Steve said “Just in case Harry starts moving again.”

Tony peered around Steve, then peeked over his own shoulder. “Where is he exactly?”

Bruce and Steve both pointed towards the closet.

“He’s just sitting in there?”

Before Tony had even finished asking the closet door flew open and their disheveled patient stumbled out into the hall. He froze as he found himself face to face with the two men he’d recently escaped from. 

“Hello!” Tony exclaimed into the shocked silence that had followed the boy out of the closet. “Your ears must have been burning, we were just talking about you!”

“Tony,” Bruce sighed, but before he could intervene further he was nudged out of the way by Natasha.

“Hi there,” Natasha’s posture melted into something more easy and welcoming than Bruce had seen since she’d been sent to retrieve him in Calcutta. She was all soft shoulders, and smiles as she approached the boy, who was still watching their group warily. 

“Don’t mind those big lugs,” She smiled, inching towards the boy and ever so slowly putting herself in his line of vision “They don’t mean any harm.”

Harry focused more on Natasha, seemingly mesmerized by her smooth voice. He certainly wasn’t relaxed, Tony mused, but he wasn’t retreating back into the closet either.

“You gave us all quite the scare, you know.” Nat said, taking another couple steps closer. “Do you remember what happened?”

Harry worried his bottom lip between his teeth, but stayed silent. He wavered, seeming unable to decide if he wanted to back away from the approaching woman, or see what she would do. 

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Nat continued “I wouldn’t be surprised, you took a nasty bump to the head. We just wanted to make sure you were alright; you were all alone when my friends found you.”

She was stood in front of him, blocking his view of the three men further down the hall, but didn’t reach out to him; afraid that it would send the kid back into the closet. As it was the boy seemed to have fallen into a trance, and she was afraid that if Tony’s patience wore out before she could win the boy over, the billionaire would wreck any chance they had of building a trust with the boy. Coincidently, it also kept his attention away from the door behind him, where Clint had nudged the door open just enough for him to see out. Apparently, he’d gotten bored in the vents and decided to join the party.

“My name is Natasha, and these are my friends,” She continued, smiling through the snort she heard Tony make behind her “Steve, Bruce, and Tony. They didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sure they’re sorry about it.”

“I would like it noted that I was not present for the alleged scaring.” Tony called out, raising a finger to signal his interjection. 

“Ignore him,” Natasha said, offering an easy smile to the still very uneasy looking boy. “We usually do.”

“Where am I?” The rusty croak of his voice seemed to surprise the boy, and Natasha smiled gently as he cleared his throat.

“You’re in New York City, at Avengers Tower.” She said, voice even, and unthreatening.

“I d-don’t - what?” he stuttered out, nostrils flared as he visibly tried to get air in his lungs. 

“You’ve had a fall,” Natasha continued, “and hit your head, and we think you may have a concussion. Disorientation, dizziness, nausea - all normal symptoms. If you’ll let him, my friend Bruce can have a look and make sure you’re not hurt any worse than that.”

“Worse?”

“Ah, no need to be too worried there,” Tony piped up “your CT scan came out looking surprisingly good. You know for someone who, ugh, well, it’s a lot better than it could have been all things considered.”

“Thank you, Tony.” Natasha said extremely pleasantly as she brought the paint peeling glare out over her shoulder. She was back to smiles when she turned back to the boy “The CT scan shows you have a mild concussion. We’d like to make sure that you don’t have any other injuries we may not be able to see, and take care of the ones we can. If you’ll let us.”

“Are you doctors?” the boy asked scanning the small crowd before him.

“Some of us are.” Tony declared, throwing an arm around Bruce.

“Yeah, I think he meant the medical kind, Stark.” Clint drawled.

Bruce had only rarely seen a young man move quite as quickly as ‘Harry’ did in that moment. Before anyone could take more than a step Harry had whipped around, arm outstretched and the closet door (which Bruce swore had been out of the boy’s reach) slammed closed on Clint’s nose.

“Oh, that looked like it hurt.” Tony hissed “Hey! Bird brain, you good?”

“I am bleeding from my face. Again.”

“He’s fine.”

“How about we move everyone into the ward?” Steve sighed “Bruce you can get cleaned up, we’ll get Clint’s nose set, and we’ll get this young man a check up.”

“Is that okay?” Natasha asked Harry, who was still staring wide eyed at the closed door. 

“Did I - ?” Harry stammered, turning to Natasha. “The door, it -”

“Let’s get you check out, okay? Just take some deep breaths, and come sit.” Natasha said, placing a gentle hand on his still outstretched arm. “We’ll talk once we know you’re okay.”

Swallowing, Harry nodded, and let Natasha lead him into the examination room he’d woken up in. Over his head, she pinned the three men standing in their way with the same glare she’d gifted Tony with in the elevator. They shuffled out of the way, and let them both through.

“Hey,” Clint said from behind them. He’d stepped out of the closet, slidded up to Bruce, and waved at their twin blood stained fronts “we match.”

“Great,” Bruce said, swiping at some partially dried blood on his chin.

“Soooo, is he telekinetic?”

“It kind of looks that way.” Steve sighed.

“Should we call S.H.E.I.L.D. now?”

“And ruin the party?” Steve raised his eyebrow “No, let's find out if he knows anything first.”

“I’m on board, but it really didn’t look like he knew anything.” Tony said offering both Clint and Bruce a wet nap from a pack he’d pulled out of his pocket. “Couldn’t even tell Nat what his name was.”

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?” Steve asked

“Did you see his face when she asked?” Tony scoffed “He doesn’t know shit.”

Whipping off his face, Bruce sighed and followed Natasha into the examination room without another word.

“This kid is some asshole’s science project, isn’t he?” Clint asked, hands firmly on his nose. He pulled down on his nose a couple of times, his eyes watering.

“House money is on that one.” Tony said, inspecting Clint’s nose as the archer dropped his hands. “I think your nose is just permanently like that, buddy. How many times have you broken it?”

“Fuck if I know.”

POV SWITCH

Harry was still a nervous wreck by the time Bruce had gotten through the much delayed physical. He asked if Harry would be more comfortable if the others left, but the suggestion had narrowed green eyes boring holes into Bruce’s head. He insisted Natasha stay. The others trooped out after Steve had mumbled something about getting dinner ready, and Tony had insisted it was a three man job. 

Harry gripped onto Natasha’s hand like she’d drop off the face of the earth without it, and held unnervingly still throughout Bruce’s examination. Ten minutes later he was sporting a few new bandages for the road rash along his side and a splint for his sprained wrist. He’d had all the pebbles and dirt flushed out of all his cuts. It was a keenly uncomfortable experience for everyone involved. Bruce felt distinctly like an aggressor in a way he’d prayed he never would, when he watched the young man in front of him seek reassurance from Natasha each time Bruce asked him to move a certain way. Every time Bruce needed him to show him his leg, lift his shirt, or turn his arm over that same narrowed eyed glare came out, until he got a nod from Natasha that it was alright. 

He wasn’t sure if Harry was being defensive as a response to an unknown situation, or if he was just embarrassed about his breakdown in the hall. Either way, he had identified Natasha as an alley, and Bruce as a potential threat - it wasn’t exactly doing wonders for Bruce’s self esteem. Kid wasn’t seriously injured, thankfully, but Bruce had a sneaking suspicion that ‘Harry’ would have prefered a few broken ribs to the apparent memory loss. Call it intuition.

With a sigh Bruce scrubbed at his brow, just above his glasses. This had been a very long day, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

“Okay,” he said “I’m going to ask you a few questions. It will help to see how extensive your memory loss is. Is that alright?”

The boy’s jaw hardened. Bruce could still see how unsure the poor kid was, but with one more reassuring look to Natasha, he looked Bruce dead in the eye and nodded.  
“So, we’ve, ugh, already established you don’t remember your name. We’ve been calling you Harry, by the way.”

“Harry?” the kid said, as though testing the name “Why Harry?”

“You had a letter in your pocket.” Natasha said softly “our friend Tony, the dark haired man with the beard, felt that you looked more like a Harry than a Ron.”

She smiled at the boy’s wide eyed look of disbelief, but Bruce could see her cataloging his reaction, or lack thereof, to both names.

“I look like a Harry?”

“Honestly?” Bruce chuckled “I have no idea. You’ll have to ask Tony about that one. In the meantime, is it alright if we call you Harry?”

“It’s better than nothing.” Harry shrugged after mulling it over for a moment.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Harry.” Bruce said “Can you tell me how old you are?”

“I’m eighteen.” Harry said, then frowned “That, is it that odd? That I know how old I am but not my own name?”

“Not necessarily.” Natasha said “The brain is a funny thing, there’s no real way to predict what you’ll remember or when.” 

“Remembering your age is a good place to start.” Bruce added with a smile “Can you tell me when your birthday is?”

“It’s . . . it’s, ugh, July . . . something.” Harry sighed “I don’t know, my head feels fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy?”

“Yeah, it’s like I’m fine, until I start to concentrate. I mean,” Harry gingerly touched the skin around the gash on his head “It definitely hurts, but I still feel clear headed - I guess? But when I, I think about my birthday. . . or my name, it’s like I lose focus.”

“Like you’re only able to see half the picture,” Natasha supplied “Bits and pieces are too out of focus to see - too fuzzy. And too many of the pieces are fuzzy to really know what the whole picture is.”

Harry nodded stiffly through a lump in his throat.

Bruce cleared his throat after a moment “Hopefully that picture will come more and more into focus as time passes. It would be best to have you in a familiar setting, but we’re a bit hard pressed to know what to do with you.”

“Guess nameless eighteen year old is a bit vague to put on the missing persons posters, huh?” Harry drawled through one corner of his mouth.

“Eh, just a little.” Natasha bumped her shoulder with Harry’s. “We could add English accent to the list, but that only narrows it down so much.”

“Do you remember your parents names?” Bruce asked, feeling more and more like a moderator as the conversation progressed. “Or where you’re from?”

Harry pulled his hand away from Natasha and pressed his palms into his eyes. “I don’t know!” he growled out “I told you, I can’t remember. I can’t see the damn picture!”

“Okay,” Bruce said evenly “let’s back up then. What’s the last thing you can remember before waking up here?”

“I was. . . running errands.” Harry said, hands still pressed to his eyes.

“Where?”

“London, yeah, I was in London.”

“London, England?”

“Yeah,” Harry lowered his hands, looking decidedly worried now “I, I don’t know how I got here.”

It was Bruce’s turn to look to Natasha for guidance. She breathed out a long breath from her nose, before reaching out to take Harry’s hand and tug it towards herself. She waited until she had the boys attention, and offered him a small smile when she had it.

“Harry, I promise you that my friends and I are going to do everything we can to help you.” She said gently “Knowing you remember being in London helps us narrow down where to look for your family. Anything you can remember helps us narrow our search more, and more, every piece of the picture helps make a whole. Can you tell us anything else from before you woke?”

“I don’t know,” Harry swallowed, giving Natasha a sideways glance “I, er, I think I remember a woman with red hair.”

“Oh yeah?” She said, giving her head a shake “like mine?”

“Kind of, I think her’s was, um, brighter.”

“Try to picture her for me. Does she seem familiar?”

Harry’s brow furrowed in thought, and he took a long breath through his nose. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay good, so you knew her?”

“Yeah,”

“Is she a friend, neighbour, your mom?”

“I’m not sure, but I, I just know she’s. . . she wouldn’t hurt me. She didn’t do this to me.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“What’s her name?”

Harry shook his head, fingering the skin around the gash on his forehead again. 

“Alright, well that’s a start.” Natasha said, with a pat to his hand “How about we talk about your little trick earlier?”

“I don’t know how I did it.”

“Any of it?” Bruce asked, leaning forward a little.

“No, I just. . . I wanted out so the door opened. I-I wanted that guy, Steve? I wanted him to let go, and then he was gone. I don’t know how.”

“I get it, you felt trapped, right?” Bruce said, voice low “There was no way out, and you just needed out, no matter what. Then all of a sudden, you’re out. You don’t know how, exactly; and you barely remember it happening, but you’re out.”

“Yeah,” Harry rasped out, eyeing Bruce as though seeing him in a whole new light. “You, um, you do tricks too?”

“Sort of,” Bruce smiled “I had a bit of an accident, a long time ago, and ever since I can do things too.”

“Incredible things,” Natasha said with a smirk.

“Yeah?” Harry said, looking between the two of them expectantly “Like me?”

“Not quite,” Bruce said “but when I get really scared, or angry something happens that I couldn’t explain for a long time. And it took me a really long time to figure out how to control it.”

“But you can now?”

“Some days are better than others.”

“Oh.”

Bruce smiled at the look on the boy’s face. “You landed amongst a group of some of the most unique people around. If anyone out there could help you figure out what’s happening to you, it’s us.”

“Provided you aren’t the ones who did this to me.”

“Oh, I like him.” Natasha drawled “You’re right to be suspicious, Harry. But, no, we didn’t do this to you.”

“What did happen then?” Harry all but whispered.

“Tony and I were out for a walk.” Bruce said, exchanging glances with Natasha. “We ended up in this little park, and while we were there you appeared in the air above our heads, and just fell. You hit your head on the ground, and we called a friend to help us get you here. The only thing you had on you was a shopping list, and a letter.”

“Addressed to Harry, from Ron?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“So, I really was shopping then?”

“It would appear so.”

Harry took a big breath, wincing a little. “But you don’t know how I appeared in the air.”

“No, we don’t.”

“So, how are you going to help me if you don’t know where I’m from, how I got here, or what’s wrong with me?”

“We have resources.” Natasha said, with a wink “Plus, you and Bruce aren’t the only ones with special tricks.”

“Really?” Harry said, perking up.

“Yeah,” Natasha sat up straight, and shook out her hair “Remember Steve? He’s like ninety five.”

“As in years old?” Harry squawked.

“Yup.”

Bruce smiled as Harry made a noise of disbelief in his throat. Natasha was assuring the boy that she spoke only the truth, but Bruce barely heard her. He was watching Harry. The kid certainly looked the age he claimed, but Steve still looked thirty. What if Harry had been suspended in time too? This red headed woman might not even still be alive. It could potentially explain the use of parchment. . . but the modern language, and jargon threw a wrench into that mess. God, what a mess. 

“Natasha,” Bruce said suddenly, cutting into her conversation with Harry. “I think Tony keeps some spare clothes around somewhere. Do you think you could try to find Harry something that fits? Let him get cleaned up for dinner?”

“Yeah, sure.” Natasha said, eyeing Bruce up. “Come on kiddo, let's find you some clean clothes.”

“Yeah, okay.” Harry blinked “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to go make sure Tony doesn’t destroy dinner.”

TEN MINUTES LATER IN THE COMMUNAL KITCHEN

 

“So, what’s Houdini’s story?” Tony said the second Bruce was out of the elevator.

Bruce pulled his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose before taking a seat next to Clint at the breakfast bar. “Not a clue.”

“He doesn’t remember anything?” Clint asked, waving his forkful of spaghetti “Like, nothing?”

Bruce sighed, and took the plate Tony offered him “Not nothing, he thinks he’s eighteen. He’s pretty sure he was in London, and he sort of remembers a woman with red hair. Has no idea who she is, but he thinks she was friendly at least.”

“He said ‘woman’ specifically?” Steve asked, coming over with a pot in hand to dish out a portion onto Bruce's plate “as in older, maybe his mother? An aunt?”

“It could be,” Bruce concided, picking up his fork “he was inclined to trust the next red headed woman he met, so it’s unlikely she was she was someone he feared.”

“He really doesn’t remember anything else?” Steve put the pot back on the stove.

“Natasha’s still talking to him.” Bruce said “The damage to his head isn’t that bad, so the memory loss must be trauma based. Hopefully if we can find the right triggers things will come back to him bit by bit.”

“Yeah, okay,” Clint rolled his eyes “so, we’re going with kid’s not a danger to anyone I take?”

“If he was sent in to infiltrate the Avengers, he’s been doing a pretty shit job of it.” Tony snarked, then stopped and cocked his head to the side “Huh, I guess he did kinda take out Hulk, and Captain Spangles over there - oh, oh! and you too Clinty-poo, don’t think I forgot you.”

“Fuck off, Tony.”

“Yes,” Steve said, ignoring Clint “with his. . . psychic ability he did knock me back.”

“And!” Tony said “slammed the door on poor little Hawkeye’s nose. And, what voodoo did he use on you again, Brucie?”

“Har har,” Bruce said “Point being, even with his . . . abilities, I think we should be looking through missing persons reports, rather than mugshots.”

“Kid was freaked, yeah.” Clint said fingering his own nose “I’ve seen some punks get in over their head and do the same. What’s to say this kid didn’t realise how bad he screwed up, and decided to fake the memory loss thing to get out of it? Could be he’s some kind of puppet master sociopath type. I hear they make ‘em young these days.”

“He’s not a sociopath.” Bruce shook his head, and reached for a slice of garlic bread.

“You think a sociopath wouldn’t know how to hide being a sociopath?”

“You think he could hide something like that from Natasha?” Tony interjected, popping a blueberry into his mouth.

“Oh, hell no.”

“Exactly.” Bruce said “Besides, Tony and I can vouch for the validity of his injuries.”

“The circumstances of which could be faked. Obviously kid has some kind of voodoo going on, it’s not out of the realm of possibility.”

“Then I’d say whatever he planned backfired, judging how vulnerable he was when he woke. He seems rather genuine in his concern over the whole memory loss thing, and - ”

“Fake-er.” Clint emphasized with a jab of his fork in Bruce's direction.

“Okay seriously, what is with you playing devil’s advocate all day.” Tony demanded “Cap jumped ship to our side.”

“I’d rather not live in a world where every injured child we come across is a suspect.” Steve said, sitting down on a stool next to Tony.

“Very noble. So, now it’s you and Natasha on the nay vote, and I’m pretty sure you started out neutral. What’s your deal, bird-brain?”

“Nat’s busy, somebody has to offer up an alternate opinion so all sides are heard. Otherwise, you assholes would just all have an agreement circle jerk, and welcome the kid in with open arms.” Clint snorted into his water glass “Plus, Nat will probably stab me if I don’t.”

“Well, then we’ll let her make the ruling!” Tony declared after a collective moment of silence from the others “and in the meantime we can narrow our search down to Great Britain. Jarvis!”

“Commencing search for persons in Great Britain matching the description of subject Houdini.”

“Wow,” Clint said around a mouth full of noodles. “I feel like that’s going to be a crazy long list.”

“Is Nat going to stab you for not offering unhelpful suggestions too, or is that one just for me?” Tony asked, clicking his tongue at his friend.

“Well, at least we have a couple of names to help narrow it down.” Steve sighed, running a hand through his own hair. 

“First names.” Clint stuck his tongue out Tony, who rolled his eyes “We have a couple of first names that we don’t even know for sure are associated with the kid we’ve got. And, those names? Harry and Ron. Those are fucking nicknames. Shorthand versions of Harold and Ronald. We might be looking for a Harold or a Ronald in Great fucking Britain.”

“You, sir, are a negative nancy.” Tony blew a raspberry at Clint before turning his attention to Jarvis again “But he does have a point about the nickname thing. So, include the names Harold and Ronald in the search, Jarv!”

“Certainly, sir.”

“So, the kid doesn’t have a problem with us calling him Harry?” Steve said rather loudly to Bruce when it looked like Clint might have a supremely unhelpful retort for Tony.

“He’s agreed to answer to it anyway. I don’t know how okay he is with anything at the moment though.”

“I bet.” Tony said “You ask him about the voodoo thing?”

“Yes, he didn’t know anything about that. Just that he really wanted a way out, and suddenly he had one.” Bruce sighed, chewing on his bread. “He asked if we were the ones who did this to him.”

“Wow. Feel a little insulted.”

“Don’t be surprised if the kid asks you how old you are, Steve.” Bruce said, ignoring Tony again.

“Okay, why?” Steve set his own plate down, and hopped onto a stool.

“Nat was trying to reassure him that he wasn’t . . . completely atypical. We talked about my tendency to turn green -”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Tony asked “Cause I like it. It’s family friendly.”

“- And Nat might have mentioned your age.”

“Fantastic.” Steve shook his head, and moved to start in on his meal.

“Hilarious,” Clint said through a full mouth “Are we calling S.H.E.I.L.D yet?”

“Are we still voting? Cause, I vote no.” Tony said, hand partially raised.

“I think we should give Harry a little more time.” Steve said “something might come to him if his mind has a little time to rest.”

“If he goes berserk and tries to kill us all in our sleep, because he suddenly remembers a mission to do just that - yall are on your own.”

“Do you really think that’s what’s going on?” 

All four Avengers whipped around to see Harry and Natasha standing in the open elevator. Harry was pale, wide eyed, and stock still. Natasha, on the other hand, looked like she was torn between laughter and kicking them each in the head.

“Sir, Miss Romanoff and Mr Houdini have arrived for dinner.” Jarvis’ voice chimed over head.

“Thank you, Jarvis.” Tony said, not taking his eyes off the child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, this is late. Hope there's someone still reading. I had a lot of fun writing it, so even if no one is it's not been time wasted. I will continue to write, regardless of how long it takes me to get chapters out. I enjoy it way too much to stop.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a trial chapter to see if there is any interest here. If there is I have a great many ideas for this fic and hope to continue!


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